From Past to Present
by fluttermoth
Summary: A collection of Skyrim drabbles inspired by tumblr prompts. Mostly featuring Listener/Cicero, but other pairings are sure to crop up.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Winds

**Characters: **Lumen and Cicero

**Summary:** It's just fluff.

* * *

"Cicero is _cold_," the Keeper complains and scoots closer to the fire-pit. Lumen does not respond. Instead she remains focused on cramming wolf pelts beneath the front door in a desperate attempt to keep the frigid winds of the Pale from blowing inside. "Cicero cannot feel his toes," he continues, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. "Or his rear."

Behind him, he can hear Lumen mutter something under her breath, and he smiles to himself when she abandons her futile task to see to him. He watches her as she yanks a heavy, wool blanket from her bed. The reckless action sends a small, decorative pillow flying to the floor. But it is forgotten when Lumen drapes the blanket across his shoulders.

He opens his mouth to thank her, but falls silent when she sits beside him to share her blanket and her warmth. His heart races when she slips an arm around him, and pulls him closer with the other. Those hands, which have broken bones and snuffed out so many lives, are deceptively gentle as she guides him to lay his head upon her shoulder. Lumen rests her cheek against the top of his head, her fingers idly playing with strands of his hair, and poor, frozen Cicero could not be happier.

Heat spreads throughout his chest when she begins to quietly hum. But Cicero can hardly hear the tune above the howling winds, and he places his gloved hand against her throat, hoping to _feel_ her voice if he can't hear it. Lumen stops for only a moment, and he's terrified that she'll push him away, but to his surprise she begins to hum again - louder this time.

Cicero cherishes these moments with his Listener, who seldom shows him affection without complaint. She only initiates it when the world is dark and all are asleep, when there are no witnesses to the rare moments when she is completely open.

When she is _his_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Succulent

**Characters:** Lumen, Cicero, Camilla, Sven, and Faendal

**Summary:** Cicero and Lumen help Faendal ruin Sven's chances with Camilla... In their own way, of course.

* * *

A small crowd gathers in the street in front of the Riverwood Trader. At first it had consisted of a few curious passersby, drawn by the sounds of shouting coming from inside the store. But when the arguing couple had taken their fight to the street, they had drawn even more onlookers.

"Camilla!" Sven shouts, ducking quickly to dodge an apple that Camilla lobs at his head. "I didn't write that stupid poem!"

"I don't believe you, Sven!" she yells, her eyes shining with anger. "I have never been so humiliated! I never want to talk to you again!" Behind her, her brother drags his hand down his face, muttering something that can't be heard amidst all the shouting.

"Camilla, _please_. I would never write something so— _so vulgar_!"

Two Bosmer and an oddly-dressed Imperial stand near the local blacksmith's home, away from the small crowd and the fighting couple. Faendal glances at his companions, who are gleefully watching the chaos unfold. "The letter I gave you wasn't vulgar..."

"It wasn't," Lumen says, leaning on the railing of the blacksmith's porch. "It just wasn't very offensive at all."

"Especially not in comparison to the fake letter Sven asked us to deliver," Cicero adds helpfully.

"What? Sven asked you to give her a fake letter?" Faendal asks, surprised.

Lumen nods. "Yeah. Great minds think alike, I guess."

Faendal chooses to ignore the insult and asks, "so what did you do?"

"Well, I couldn't decide which one of you to help. I mean, you're both acting like complete idiots for this woman."

"But sweet, helpful Cicero convinced Lumen that we should help you."

"Not that I am complaining, but what made you decide to help me rather than Sven?" he asks, crossing his arms and keeping a wary eye on the commotion in the street.

Lumen grins up at him. "We decided to help you because you're the _cute_ one."

"I'm flattered," Faendal says, though at the moment, he feels anything but. "But that doesn't explain why Camilla is so upset."

"Well, your poem was, er, _lacking_. So we wrote a new one," Lumen tells him, then gasps in delight. "Did you see that? She smacked him!" she laughs, clapping Faendal roughly on the back. "I wish you the best of luck, she's got a nasty temper."

"She's just spirited."

"Uh huh. I'm sure you'll change your tune when you're not so utterly besotted with her."

"I'm not _besotted_—"

"Yes you are. Whenever you talk about her you get this big, dopey grin on your face."

Faendal frowns, ready to argue his point further when Cicero distracts him by waving a piece of parchment at him.

"Here! Cicero wrote a copy of the poem for himself," he smiles at the Bosmer, who is at least a head taller than he is, and adds, "Faendal may read it if he wishes."

"Why did you make a copy of it?" Faendal asks, as he takes the parchment from Cicero.

"It was Cicero and Lumen's first collaborative work, it seemed like something worth saving," Cicero turns to Lumen, sounding a little uncertain when he asks, "It is worth saving, right?"

"Sure," Lumen shrugs. "I liked it."

Faendal unfolds the parchment and begins to read aloud, "I long to take you on your hands and knees, filling you with my hot, Nordic seed—" he quickly falls silent. Blushing furiously and unable to find his voice.

"It's pretty good isn't it?" Lumen asks.

"Ooh!" Cicero chimes in, "read the part about how he wants to wrap her soft, succulent thighs around his face and—"

"_No_!" Faendal snaps. "Gods, no. That's quite all right. I think I've read enough," he stammers, handing the parchment back to Cicero.

"No one appreciates erotic poetry these days," Cicero sniffs. The Imperial couldn't look more offended as he carefully folds the paper and places it in one of the many pouches lining his belt.

Lumen grins slyly at Faendal. "Oh, don't act so innocent. Certainly you want to 'ride her as a Nord rides a steed into battle.'" Lumen punctuates her statement by grabbing her companion by the belt and miming a hip-thrusting action.

Cicero cackles. "Oh, Cicero has not been on the receiving end in quite some time," he says, all while grinning over his shoulder at Lumen and arching his back so his rear presses firmly against her hips.

Faendal's eyes grow wide. "I— you—" he sputters, turning away from the pair. "Thank you for your help, but I should get back to work. I have— wood to chop."

Lumen snorts, releasing Cicero from her grasp. "So, do you still think Riverwood is boring?"

"Yes," Cicero says, standing up straight and righting his cap, which had been knocked askew thanks to Lumen's enthusiastic thrusts. "But it was less boring today."

"I still say 'succulent' is an odd way to describe a woman's thighs," she comments, folding her arms and watching Faendal's retreating form. "It's like you're comparing her to a roasting hen."

Cicero clicks his tongue. "Poor, under appreciated Cicero was just thinking about how he would describe the Listener's thighs when he wrote that."

"Oh, _thanks_," she says, swatting him on the arm.

"It is a compliment!" Cicero flinches away from her, rubbing his arm and trying to look as pathetic as he possibly can. "It really is."

Lumen shakes her head, unable to keep herself from smiling. "Come on, Keeper. Let's go home," she says, then adds, "and I expect you to find a much nicer way to describe my thighs."

"Well Cicero supposes he can do that," he murmurs, a sly grin creeping across his face. "But Cicero will have to walk behind sweet Lumen so he can observe."

"Oh, but of course. Observe all you like," Lumen says, turning away from Cicero. She saunters toward the road that will lead them home, with an extra sway to her hips as the Keeper follows after her.


End file.
